


Gymnopédie

by trash_devil



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mentions of Voyeurism, Self-Harm, Suicide, Swearing, at least 1 terrible pun, dont ask why megumi is still here he just is ok, okay way more than 1, saying the Wrong Thing at the Wrong Time, slides a casual fragile dreams reference bc that game also makes me Emotional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 06:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16213388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash_devil/pseuds/trash_devil
Summary: He should've known that, Joshua being Joshua, he would find some way to pull the trigger in death just as he had in life.





	1. Slowly and painfully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the 2018 TWEWY Bang

Joshua sprawled across the couch. He watched the fish flit about beneath the glass tiles, then breathed out a sigh that made Megumi glance in his direction.

“Is something wrong, Sir?”

“No, Megumi.” He sighed again and rolled over onto his stomach.

Sometimes Megumi had to remind himself that this was a god and not some sullen teenager. “With all due respect, Sir, I do not understand why you insist on taking that form.”

“With all due respect, Megumi, I don’t understand why you insist on asking so many questions,” he said mockingly.

“My apologies.”

The malice melted out of his voice as he replied, “Forgiven.”

One orange fish bumped up against the glass below his dangling fingers. Of course it would be orange, he thought. There was no escaping it, was there? What a shame; he didn’t know what to do with the feeling other than run and hide. 

But even here in the one place he thought he was safe, the guilt gnawed at his insides, embodied in this moment by the dumb creature headbutting the glass. He closed his eyes, but that only made the incessant _thump thump thump_ louder in his ears.

 _Noise. Noun. A sound, particularly one that is loud or unpleasant or that causes disturbance._ This fish was definitely causing him some disturbance. 

He sat up. “Megumi, I’m heading out.”

The Conductor hid his surprise behind his mirrored shades. It had been many weeks since Joshua had been outside. Or even moved from the couch.

Joshua excavated himself from the cushions and swung his feet to the floor. He swayed a little as he stood, the room spinning around him, but that was just another inconvenience of keeping this human form. Having to worry about legs and balance and such. He checked his reflection in the glassy floor and shook the hair out of his eyes.

“Don’t let anyone in while I’m gone,” he said pointlessly. People weren’t exactly lining up at his door for a visit.

He chalked it up to paranoia. That was much easier than admitting to himself that it was hope that made him say those words. 

A vague, pathetic little hope that maybe someone out there cared enough to check on him.

 

Joshua tuned himself to a frequency that hid him from humans and Reapers alike as he weaved through the streets. 

After the events of the Game in which he staked Shibuya, his appearance was no longer a mystery. To be seen was to be recognized; no longer could he wander through the RG as if he were an ordinary kid.

Still, as he slipped through the doors of WildKat, its modulator jolted him down to the RG. He could combat it if he really wanted to, but what was the point? It wasn’t like Hanekoma got many customers. 

Joshua plunked himself down into at one of the many empty tables and waited to be noticed.

It didn’t take long. Joshua was nothing if not noticeable.

“Josh? What are you doing here?”

He definitely didn’t look happy about his presence, but he hadn’t kicked him out either. 

Joshua decided to be the optimist for once and take it as a good sign. He folded his hands on the table in front of him with a smile. “I wanted to pay my dear, sweet Producer a visit. How are the higher-ups treating you?”

“Your mess has given me quite a few headaches. You know, Josh—”

“Oh, hush,” he said, pressing a finger to his lips in the universal sign for silence. “I came here for coffee, not a lecture. We can talk business later, Sanae.”

“We have to talk it eventually.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can you get on with it?”

“Cash first.”

Joshua pouted. “Really? I have to pay? Do I at least get a discount?”

“You get to pay extra.”

He stood and shoved past him on his way behind the counter. “I’ll do it myself, then.”

Hanekoma looked down at him. “Joshua.”

“I’m the Composer; I do what I want,” he said over the grind of the coffee machine.

“And what happened the last time I let you do whatever you wanted?”

Joshua smiled sweetly and turned, hands clasped behind his back. “No permanent damage was done and everyone involved became a better person? I don’t see the problem.”

Hanekoma pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to ignore the headache that Joshua was giving him. He sincerely hoped he was joking, but it was impossible to tell with Joshua. He worked off of his own logic, utterly divorced from the way the rest of the world worked— _“my secret garden,”_ Hanekoma could hear him saying—and maintained that everyone else functioned in the same way. 

In Joshua’s version of the world, communication was difficult, and understanding near-impossible. Even after all these years, Hanekoma couldn’t trace the arcane paths of his thoughts. 

For all he knew, Joshua may have truly believed that he had done nothing wrong.

“Do you need me to explain what the problem is to you?”

“Maybe, but I don’t care, and I won’t listen.” He busied himself with drawing a cat in his coffee with the creamer and cooed, “How about latte art, Mr. CAT?”

It was hard to tell if Joshua was talking to him or the coffee. He leaned over to inspect his work. “... Don’t quit your day job.”

“What, you don’t like it? I think it’s quite cute.”

“I think your ego is getting in the way of your judgement.”

“Ouch. You’re crushing my dreams, Sanae.”

“Some dreams need to be crushed.”

Joshua swirled his coffee around in his cup, the cat-ish thing he drew dissolving into a pale brown. “I don’t need a reminder. I know very well that dreams don’t come true.”

“Not with that attitude, they don’t,” Hanekoma replied automatically.

Joshua made an over-exaggerated display of abashment, his hand fluttering up to his mouth like an old-time actress about to swoon. “Even dreams have a problem with my attitude? How _cruel!”_

“To be perfectly honest, Joshua, I can’t think of a single thing that doesn’t have a problem with you attitude.” He nudged Joshua aside to make his own coffee.

Joshua hoisted himself up onto the counter.

“Please sit in a chair.”

“No. You don’t control me.”

Hanekoma sighed. “Actually, I do. Or at least I’m supposed to. Instead, here I am, getting sassed by a kid who never left his rebellious phase.”

“It is not a phase,” he said, putting his coffee down to cross his arms.

“Case in point,” the Producer grunted. “Spoken like a true emo teen.”

“Fair enough. I have been known to flirt with both ends of a gun.” He reached for his coffee again and took a sip.

Hanekoma winced in sympathy. He could practically hear Joshua’s fingertips and tongue sizzling from the scalding hot drink. Joshua didn’t seem to care, but Hanekoma picked up his own cup gingerly, hot even through its sleeve. “I don’t know who allowed you to get your hands on one.”

“Since when have I waited for permission?”

“Never, unfortunately for the rest of us who have to deal with the consequences. Sometimes I think you’re more trouble than you’re worth…”

As soon as that last sentence slipped out of his mouth, he saw something shift in Joshua’s face and knew he had struck a nerve.

He chugged what was left of his coffee and dropped the cup back down on the counter, chipping the edge, and jumped to the floor. “When I was alive, I was better off dead. Now that I’m dead, I’m better off, what? Not existing at all? Oh, believe me, if I had the choice!” He laughed sharply.

Hanekoma suppressed another sigh. He hadn’t really meant what he had said, but neither was he in the state of mind to deal with Joshua’s moods. 

It was easier to just let him go and deal with it after he cooled down.

Joshua stormed out the door and promptly phased out of the RG as soon as he was out of modulator range. Hanekoma could still see him, but he knew what was happening by the way his body blurred around the edges. 

Also by the way several people walked directly through him. He glared at them, which of course they did not notice. Their lack of response seemed to only make him more angry. Hanekoma pulled out his phone and dialed Megumi’s number.

“Keep an eye on the Composer. And please make sure he doesn’t get his hands on another gun.”

“Understood.”

 

Megumi’s mass call to the Reapers wasn’t really necessary. Even without being given orders, none of them would dare to tear their eyes away from their composer. He stomped through the streets like a force of nature, his corporeal form drifting off of him in ribbons to dissolve into the air like wisps of smoke. With each step, his glow grew stronger, until it was lightning stalking through the streets, sparking down the alleyways, sending beacons of light up into the sky. 

Noise vaporized on contact with his shimmering power, crying out one last time before being silenced for good. Reapers took to the air to avoid meeting the same fate. It was a good thing that the Game wasn’t running that week; every single Player would have been Erased.

Even a few people in the RG noticed the flashes out light out of the corner of their eyes. They looked around in confusion as the world around them lit up and shone and dimmed once more. 

Had they turned to the sky, they would have seen lights streaking up like reverse shooting stars, but instead they dropped their gazes to the ground and kept on walking, as ignorant of the world around them as they had always been.

Beyond their perception, the Composer phased through the bustling crowds. Feathers fluttered down behind him, and when they touched the ground, they burst into a shower of sparks and music. People suddenly found themselves wanting to stop by Hip Snake or Sheep Heavenly to buy some new swag. 

The trends were in chaos as Joshua’s influence ebbed and flowed and shifted the charts at an incredible rate.

As for the boy himself, well, he was still simmering with anger. Still lingering on Hanekoma’s words and his own and on the stubborn memories of his life that even now refused to leave him. His nails dug into his palm as his hands clenched into fists; he desperately ignored the burning behind his eyes. 

He turned abruptly down a dingy alleyway, one last feather spiralling from him. 

When this one hit the streets, it was more than just a pretty display of sparks. It became the epicenter for a final shimmering wave of power, spreading outward from where it landed and sending any Reaper bold enough to follow him scrambling for safety.

Joshua pressed one hand against the cold, rough brickwork. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe evenly.

_In and out. In and out. In and out and on and off and better off better off better off better off…_

He pushed his hands up against his ears, but the words came from within rather than without, and he could not muffle them. 

Had any Reapers still been watching, they would have seen their Composer flicker, flash, and, finally, vanish.

 

Hanekoma’s phone rang. He was going to put it on Do Not Disturb until he saw the name on the screen. He picked it up.

“We lost Him,” Megumi’s voice said.

“What? Lost who?”

“The Composer.”

“You’re kidding, right? He was a walking light show two seconds ago!”

“I do not kid, Producer. It was too dangerous for us to get too close. He was there, and then He was not.”

“He… Alright. Okay. Fine. I’ll deal with this. You keep doing your thing, and let me know if anything else happens.” He disconnected the call and scrolled through the apps on his phone. 

Finally, Joshua’s tracker would be good for something. “I swear, this kid is going to be the second death of me,” he muttered as he headed out the door.

He followed the tracker through the streets, phasing through people just as Joshua had moments before. He retraced the boy’s steps, twisting through unused paths and sometimes directly through walls and barriers no normal human could pass, until he reached a dead-end alleyway.

The tracker said Joshua was here, but Hanekoma could see nothing but brick walls and rusted dumpsters. He nudged aside bags of trash with his semi-corporeal foot. “Joshua?”

His own voice echoed back at him. He narrowed his eyes and looked harder. Looked past the UG and the RG and all the parts in between, and the ones that existed below, and the ones that existed above. 

The outline of a boy flickered into view. 

He reached out to grab it. His hand closed around the vague suggestion of a limb, which solidified into a bony teenaged arm at his touch.

“Let go,” Joshua hissed at him, making a half-hearted attempt to pull away. He knew he didn’t stand a chance against Hanekoma. There was a reason he was the Producer.

“Kid, what the hell have you been doing?” Now that Joshua was grounded, there was no need for him to hold on. He released Joshua’s arm and…

Hanekoma stared at his hand. His palm was red with blood. He looked down at Joshua, who was hurriedly trying to bind his arm with part of his shirt. He wasn’t very successful.

“Joshua.” He held him by the jaw and forced his head to turn. He stared into those violet eyes, as lost and bitter as they had been when they first met. “You haven’t changed, have you?”

Joshua smiled crookedly, unwilling to show how much the Producer’s disappointment hurt him. “Believe me, I would if I could.”

Hanekoma released him. “You can, but you won’t,” he said. “Come talk to me once you’ve calmed down and are ready to discuss this like adults.” He turned, leaving Joshua to stare at his back as he walked away.

Blood dripped on the ground. Joshua laughed joylessly, breathlessly, uncontrollably.

At least, that was what he thought. It took a whole minute for him to realize that he wasn’t.

Yoshiya Kiryu, god of Shibuya, was crying.


	2. Slowly and sorrowfully

As much as he hated to admit it, he was beginning to worry about Joshua. It had been months since he first extended his invitation, and he had not received even a hint of a reply. When he went to WildKat to ask after him, Hanekoma was suspiciously cagey, grunting monosyllabic responses to all his questions.

So that was why Neku was here, standing at the mouth of the river, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. 

Darkness clotted in the River’s gaping maw and twisted down its throat, as thick and black as spilled ink. If he stared long enough, squinted and tilted his head to the side and concentrated on the shadows behind the barbed wire fence, he thought he could see… something. Some spark of light, some flicker of motion so insubstantial that it could have been nothing more than his eyes playing tricks on him.

Neku bit his lip. He was worried, yes, but not worried enough to try and climb into Shibuya’s sewers. For all he knew, Joshua’s pad didn’t even exist in the RG. He might tear up his legs and shorts on the barbed wire to only find garbage and sludge and stagnant water and nothing to suggest that anyone had ever lived there. 

He stood there, waiting. For what, he didn’t know. He didn’t even know if he wanted to see Joshua at all.

This was pointless. Neku turned his back on the River’s silent mouth and went home.

 

Perhaps he didn’t want to see Joshua so much as he wanted to talk to someone that would understand. 

Hadn’t they both expanded their worlds during those weeks? Hadn’t they both done the unthinkable and reached through their walls to make friends?

He wondered what it was like for Joshua to see what lay beyond his own walls for once.

It was a good thing, Neku thought, to break out of the bubble of isolation. But the good always came with the bad, and his attitude in the past had earned him some enemies. Their insults no longer bounced off of his shell. He cared now.

It was a price he was fully willing to pay, and he gladly would have paid it again, but sometimes even he had to cry. He didn’t really want to, but his body didn’t listen as the sobs forced their way out of him. He muffled it as best he could so his mother wouldn’t hear and worry. He didn’t know how soundproof the apartment walls were.

A voice as smooth as silk drifted to his ears as he cried. “Oh, Neku, why do people always try to break beautiful things?”

His head whipped up. “Joshua!?”

And there he was, smug grin and all, his skinny arms resting on the windowsill. He looked as relaxed as if he owned the place and didn’t just appear out of nowhere. “Howdy, partner.”

His smile stretched wider as he watched several emotions battle for dominance on Neku’s face. 

Surprise, relief, happiness, anger. He settled on the last. “What the hell are you doing here!?”

“Dropping by to see my favorite Player, of course.”

“Why now? Where have you been? What makes you think that this is okay!? You killed me!”

Joshua rolled his eyes. “Neku, hun, that’s old news by now. Don’t sound so surprised. Besides, I brought you back, didn’t I?”

“That doesn’t make it any better!”

“I beg to differ.” He sauntered over to Neku. His thumb ran across Neku’s cheek, wiping away the tears he had shed. “You’re alive, I’m not, so why stress over the details?”

“Because I always stress when you’re around,” Neku replied, brushing Joshua’s hand aside and trying to ignore the commentary on his not-life. 

He couldn’t imagine Joshua dying any more than he could imagine Joshua living. It seemed impossible that he had ever been a normal teenager or a Player or anything other than, well, Joshua.

Joshua grinned at him. “I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. He put his hands on his hips. “So, are you going to introduce me to the rest of the gang or what?”

“It’s, like, one in the morning!”

“One in the morning?” He shook his head and tutted. “That’s past your bedtime.”

Neku shot him a glare. “And what about yours?”

“I’m dead. That’s basically like being asleep all the time.”

He frowned. “I don’t think that’s how it works…”

“And what would you know about it, Sakuraba? Last time I checked, you still have a pulse.”

“No thanks to you.”

“It is absolutely thanks to me! When went over this, oh…” he checked an imaginary watch, “two minutes ago? Come on, Neku, I need you to keep up.”

Neku groaned and flopped onto his bed. “Can we do this in the morning? You’re making me tired…”

“It is the morning,” Joshua said matter-of-factly. “And you were already tired.”

“Shut up. I’m going to sleep now.”

“Sweet dreams, Neku,” he said with a giggle.

Neku closed his eyes and tried not to think too hard about Joshua watching him sleep. He was already done with thi—

 

The alarm went off at 6 AM, jolting Neku awake with a blast of music. He sat up and scrambled to turn it off.

Joshua sat at the edge of his bed, his posture slumped and perilously close to falling off.

“So much for not needing to sleep,” Neku grumbled.

Those violet eyes snapped open. For a brief moment, Neku swore he could see something vulnerable in them, something very much like fear. 

But then Joshua’s mouth curled into his usual smile as he said, “Tsk. Should be at least seven hours.”

“What?”

“You should get at least seven hours of sleep a night. That was hardly five.”

“What are you? My mom?”

Joshua shrugged. “If that’s what you’re into, dear,” he said, still smiling.

Neku grimaced. “Gross. Get out of my room, too, I need to get dressed.”

Joshua leaned over and tapped him lightly on the nose. “How cute. You’re all blushy and nervous.” His smile softened, and for once he actually looked a little bit like the god he really was. Harmonious and benevolent. “Don’t worry, I have no interest in seeing you naked.”

“I didn’t think you did!”

Any tenderness in his expression melted back into his usul insufferable aloofness as he said, “Oh, you _totally_ thought I did.”

Neku opened his mouth to protest, but Joshua silenced him with a sweep of his hand. 

Literally—he snatched the words from the air, and they danced around his fingers in colorful ribbons. 

So that was how the Noise were made. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Joshua said, heading out the door.

Neku heard the lock click behind him, but he watched the door carefully for another few minutes. Just in case.

You could never know with Joshua.

But Joshua was true to his word this time. He leaned against the wall outside the door, still playing with the strands of Noise he had taken from Neku’s mouth. He could hear someone puttering around in a different room. He tuned himself out of the RG as that someone appeared in a doorway, drying her hands off on her pants. 

She had that expression of permanent worry that mothers of teenagers tended to affect. He almost felt sorry for her, for the way she must watch her son grow adult and distant, leaving her world to never return.

Such was the way of life, Joshua thought. He wondered if his own mother—

No. She didn’t matter anymore. None of that mattered anymore.

It was then that he noticed that Neku’s mom was staring at him. He shifted uncomfortably, wondering if she could see him. Living people being able to see into the UG wasn’t unheard of; he had been one of them, after all. Just as he was about to offer some sort of explanation to her, she ducked back into her own room. 

He chastised himself for worrying. He was the Composer. Not even Reapers could see him if he didn’t want them to.

Even so, when Neku’s door opened, Joshua had to hide his shaking hands in his pockets.

Neku glanced up and down the hallway, brow furrowing in confusion. Joshua realized he hadn’t shifted back to the RG.

“Neku.”

“GYARGH!” he shrieked as Joshua flickered into view.

The door slammed open again. Neku’s mother rushed out to see her son standing alone in the hall, an expression of shock frozen on his face. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Neku shook his head and composed himself. “Nothing. I thought I saw something,” he mumbled. “Guess I’m just tired.”

“Alright. Try to get to bed earlier tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, looking away.

She wished he would talk to her more. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need me. I love you.”

“I know, mom.”

The door closed again. “Wow. Thanks, Josh,” Neku whispered.

“You’re welcome,” said a voice next to his ear. It took every ounce of his willpower not to scream again. Neku turned, expecting to see Joshua’s stupid, self-satisfied face.

He did see Joshua, but Joshua wasn’t smiling. He looked… almost sad. “Let’s go, Neku.”

“The hell is up with you?”

“Nothing that you care about,” he said, pushing past Neku and out the door.

Neku managed to grab his arm and force him to stop. “You know, I’ve been wondering this for a long time, but what’s your problem?”

“It’s not yours, that’s for sure,” Joshua snapped. He yanked his arm away, rubbing at his wrist. He could feel the ridges of scab beneath the concealer. _Breathe. In and out. In and out._

“Have it your way.”

They set out for Hachiko.

 

It was an appropriate meeting place. That statue was the landmark of their lives. 

Or, more accurately, their deaths.

“So this is Joshua?” Shiki said as they approached. Holding her hand was Eri. She waved with the one that wasn’t enfolded in Shiki’s.

Joshua slipped into a smile with so much ease that Neku felt a chill run up his spine. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m sorry I tried to kill you,” he said amiably. 

Neku elbowed him hard in the side.

Beat glared at him. He stood protectively in front of Rhyme.

Joshua smiled at him too, ignoring the bruise forming on his ribs from Neku’s blow and silently cursing himself for letting his guard down. “I extend the same apology to you two.”

He took a step forward, then back again when Beat growled at him. “Lay a hand on Rhyme, ‘n I’ll beat your prissy ass six ways to Sunday, yo.”

Joshua spread his hands out in surrender. “As enticing as that sounds, I think I’ll have to pass.”

Eri was looking at him oddly, but he didn’t think much of it. After all, he was talking about death. She turned to Shiki and whispered something.

He supposed he should say something to her. “You’re Eri, right? If I remember correctly, Shiki mentioned that you’re something of a designer. Perhaps we could share some ideas?”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were into fashion!” Shiki and Eri chorused.

“I dabble.”

Neku twirled his finger near his head in the universal he’s-crazy motion and looked pointedly at the girls. “Careful.”

Shiki chastised him, “Don’t be rude, Neku.”

“He almost murdered us!”

Her expression darkened. “You almost murdered me, too,” she said quietly. “Or did you forget?”

That made him shut his mouth.

Joshua cleared his throat to break the awkward silence that had settled over the group. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate your input on some of the designs I’ve sketched out back home.”

“I’d be glad to!” Eri blurted, even more eager than he was to change the topic. She fell into step beside him, Shiki on her other side. They were quickly followed by Rhyme, then Beat, then Neku as he realized that everyone else was going. He glared at Joshua, but he didn’t spare Neku a second glance. 

He hissed his annoyance through his teeth; how was it so easy for Joshua to get them all on his side? How did they not see right through his lies, his performance, his sickeningly sweet words that were exactly what they wanted to hear?

He brooded all the way to Joshua’s, one question looping itself in his mind. How?

 

Joshua expected Megumi’s shaded gaze when he walked into the room with Neku’s friends in tow, but that was not what he got. 

Instead of his Conductor, it was Sho sitting behind the counter. He slumped over it like a depressed dog, his head resting on his arms.

“What’s Pi-Face doin’ here?” Beat asked.

Joshua shrugged. “A very good question. Care to answer, Minamimoto?”

“Those hectopascals put me in time out,” Sho huffed indignantly. “This was not part of the equation… Where did I miscalculate?” He sat up abruptly, revealing the papers he had been lying on top of. Each of them was covered, corner to corner, in cramped handwritten equations.

“The hell is he talking about?” Beat asked Joshua.

“He’s always been quite the troublemaker. He doesn’t like to follow rules.”

“The only rules I follow are PEMDAS!” Sho growled.

He rolled his eyes at the reaper. “Do your algebra homework later. I’m not gonna let you stick around unsupervised, so get up and get over here.” He snapped his fingers.

Sho slunk over to him, his teeth bared. Joshua wasn’t intimidated in the slightest, and he stared him down until he stopped growling.

“... Is he coming with us?” Neku asked.

Joshua’s mouth twitched as he suppressed a sneer. _Good impressions, Joshua._ “Well, I’m not going to leave him here to do as he pleases with my stuff,” he said in a tone of voice that implied he thought the question he was answering was a stupid one, “and you can hardly expect me to discuss the fine points of design with him barking out trigonometry every thirty seconds.” He turned toward Shiki and Eri. “Sorry, girls.”

“Don’t worry about it! There’ll be plenty of other chances!” Shiki said quickly.

Joshua hesitated. “... Of course there will,” he said after an ominous pause. 

Neku got the feeling that there _wouldn’t_ be other chances, but he wasn’t going to comment on it if no one else did.

They didn’t.

“Shall we?” Joshua said, gesturing toward the door.

Beat perked up at the idea of leaving. He was getting claustrophobic with all the people crammed into Joshua’s room. “Yeah man, fo sho’!”

Sho whirled around to face him so quickly that Neku thought he felt the sound barrier break. “For me? Awh, zetta shucks…” he mumbled, all trace of his former bad mood gone.

Beat froze. He was about to explain himself, but the look of genuine happiness on Sho’s face stopped him. “... Yeah, bro.”

Sho tilted his hat down to hide a faint blush. “That’s zetta sweet as pi. You definitely ain’t goin’ in the heap.” He slung one arm around Beat’s shoulders.

He felt like he was being draped in a blanket. A blanket that tended to yell loudly about math. And smelled like noodles. His stomach rumbled.

Sho grinned, and Beat instinctively shrunk back from those wickedly sharp teeth. “Ey, pretty-boy-picogram, why don’t we add some food to the equation?” he called out to Joshua.

“Ramen it is,” he answered without asking for anyone else’s opinion. 

Not that they were complaining. If there was one thing they could all agree on about Joshua, it was that his taste in everything from noodles to sweets to exotic fungi was impeccable, and he always knew where to find the best of the best.

So that was how Joshua found himself the leader of their ragtag little group. 

He marched them out of the sewers with so much authority that no one questioned who they were or what they were doing, despite the fact that they were walking out of the _sewer._

In fact, the only people who approached them were some confused strangers who mistook him for some sort of celebrity.

Neku did have to admit he was pretty. “But a pretty face doesn’t make up for his shit personality,” he muttered to himself.

Joshua gave him a sidelong look and a knowing little smile, dropping back so that they were walking next to each other and letting Sho take the lead. “You think I’m pretty,” he said, quiet enough so that only the two of them could hear.

“This is weird.”

“You’re the one who said it, Neku. I was just listening.”

“Some things aren’t meant to be heard.”

Joshua laughed, “How poetic.” He linked his arm with Neku’s to drag him along. Neku knew better than to try to pull away.

“It’s a wonder no one’s punched your face in yet. You wouldn’t be so pretty then,” he grumbled.

“Oh believe me, plenty have tried.” He smiled thinly, and Neku found himself trying to picture Joshua in life.

What kind of kid had he been? If he was as insufferable then as he was now, he couldn’t have gotten far without losing a few teeth and gaining a few black eyes. 

He wondered if the Joshua he saw beside him was even what Joshua had looked like at all. It hurt his head to think of.

“Something wrong, Neku?”

“I think I need to bring aspirin whenever I go out with you.”

“How romantic. Is this a date?”

“No,” Neku snapped. He felt his cheeks burning and saw, out of the corner of his eye, Shiki giving him that look again. He shot her a glare. “You need to stop it too.”

She waved her hands nervously like she was trying to shoo away the blame. “Stop what? I wasn’t doing anything!”

Eri patted her shoulder. “You’re a terrible liar, Shiki.”

“Not helping!”

“Don’t worry. It’s cute.”

“Will you all stop being so zetta slow!?” Sho barked, cutting through the conversation. They had all fallen behind except Beat, still under Sho’s arm, and Rhyme, jogging to keep up with his long stride.

“We can’t all have long legs like you!” she said breathlessly.

Sho slowed down for a moment to scoop her up in his free arm and hoist her onto his shoulder. “Then I’ll carry the remainder.”

Rhyme flicked him in the cheek. “I’m not a remainder.”

“Yeah, Rhyme ain’t no ramen-deer!”

There was a pause where Rhyme and Sho glanced at each other.

“Maybe you can help him with math?” she suggested.

“I’d be zetta glad to, if only so I don’t gotta listen to this garbage.”

Joshua cupped a hand to his mouth so his voice would carry over the Shibuya bustle. “That’s all well and good for you three, but the rest of us aren’t blessed with Sho’s ostrich legs!”

“I’m a lion, not an ostrich! Keep that up and you’re getting downgraded back to yoctogram!”

“I’m certainly not going to be keep up with anything if you continue at that pace. I hate sweating…”

Neku sighed and increased his own speed, forcing Joshua to match his footsteps. “It’s summer, Joshua, you’re gonna sweat anyway. Besides, aren’t you basically a god? Can’t you do something about this?”

“I’m a god, not an air conditioner, and I’m definitely not your public transportation,” he grumbled. He looked so genuinely miserable that Neku almost felt sorry. 

Almost. 

Mostly he found a sort of sadistic satisfaction in watching the sweat bead across the bridge of his nose and trickle down his neck as they pushed through the crowd.

He was hoping that would be enough to shut him up, but Joshua was not one to suffer in silence.

“Ugh, do you know how hard it is to get my hair like this?”

“Really easy, I’d guess, because I’m pretty sure you just materialize like that.”

Joshua pouted. “Was hard when I had to do it myself.”

“HURRY UP!” Sho shouted. Rhyme covered her ears.

The entire crowd turned toward him. A circle around him cleared as people backed away, suddenly noticing the very tall, very scary, very loud man standing in their midst. Him carrying Rhyme on his shoulder undermined the effect a little, but not much. 

A thousand eyes focused on their small group. Neku shrunk beneath their gazes.

Joshua felt his hesitation and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. His fingers were cool on Neku’s skin. “It’s alright,” he whispered. He made a strange motion with his wrist, and with a feeling like the faint brush of feathers, all those eyes slid off of them. “There are a few benefits to godhood.”

“Amazing. You actually did something nice.”

“I’ve done plenty of nice things. I partnered up with you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, after you killed me. And then you pretended to die to make me feel guilty. Then you killed me again. So I think that cancels out any niceness,” Neku snapped as he yanked his arm away.

“You asked me to be here, Neku, so don’t get mad about my presence.”

“I’ll get mad at whatever I want! Do you really think that what you did to me was okay!?”

Joshua fell silent. He made a swift motion toward Neku and back again, and Neku felt a sudden coldness in his palm. He opened his hand.

Joshua had handed him a pin. 

He ran his finger along its edge; he didn’t recognize its design. It felt normal, as far as he could tell, with no Psych or anything else attached to it. “What is this?”

“A pin.”

“I have eyes, Joshua. Stop being so vague. It isn’t cool, or cute, or whatever you think it is.”

“... Just take it, Neku. We can talk about it later. We’re gonna get left behind.”

He looked up to see Joshua was right. As much as he wanted to stand here and argue until he got a straight answer, they had to get moving before Sho left them in the dust.

“Come on.” He was careful not to touch Neku as he ushered him forward. He even had the decency to look a little sheepish. “Can you at least put up with me for one day, Neku?” he asked. He smiled, but it wasn’t his usual smile. It was timid and weak and unguarded. “Then you never have to see me again.” 

And then his usual expression slid back into place.

Neku’s fist tightened around the pin. He hated these brief moments when Joshua let him see what hid behind his empty grin. He hated it because those few seconds made it impossible to hate him for everything else he’d done. 

The smooth, cold edges of the pin dug into his palm.

 

Even during lunch hour, Ramen Don was practically empty, so Ken Doi was more than a little surprised when a gaggle of teens squeezed through the door.

“Curry ramen yo!” Beat shouted as soon as he was inside.

“Multiply that by two!” Sho called after him.

Shiki followed up at a more reasonable volume with, “A miso ramen for me and Eri.”

“Shoyu,” muttered Neku.

“The special, please,” Joshua requested politely. He looked at the others then smiled apologetically at the shopkeeper.

No wonder adults liked him, Neku thought, he could play them like a fiddle.

Despite their behavior, Ken Doi was more than happy to fill their orders. He didn’t usually get this many customers.

They crammed themselves into one of the booths. 

Joshua was nearly sitting in Neku’s lap, Rhyme was actually sitting in Beat’s. Sho defied all laws of physics to fold himself into the space between them and the wall. Shiki and Eri sat as close together as they could without occupying the same space.

Before long they each had a steaming bowl of noodles placed on the table in front of them.

Neku watched Joshua eat in a sort of mild disbelief. It seemed impossible that all that food could fit in his skinny little body, regardless of him being a god. 

He tried to turn his attention to his ramen instead, but it was hard to focus on anything with Joshua’s bony knee digging into his thigh.

“Move over,” he growled.

Joshua smiled innocently at him. “No.”

“Move, or I’ll make you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

He rammed his shoulder up into Joshua’s jaw.

It felt like hitting a brick wall. He let out a small noise of pain and clutched his shoulder.

Joshua laughed at him. “Come on, Neku. I can stop bullets, what did you think would happen?” The bruise on his ribs from earlier ached. “... But you might’ve had a chance if you hadn’t warned me first.” He pushed himself closer into Neku’s side.

Neku squirmed in discomfort. He could play the xylophone on this kid’s ribs. “Maybe if you weren’t so bony it wouldn’t hurt so much when you’re all squashed against me.”

“Eat your lunch, dear, you’re not much better.”

Neku grumbled something under his breath and turned back to his noodles. 

An awkward silence settled over the table, interrupted only by Sho and Beat slurping up their ramen loudly. Shiki and Eri whispered to each other.

Then Joshua stood. 

They all turned to him. “Well. Nice meeting you all,” he said. There was something strange in his voice, but none of them could pinpoint it. He dropped a stack of yen on the table.

“You’re leaving?” Shiki said at last.

“I’m the Composer, remember? I have to get back to work.”

Sho rose as well, somehow making his way past both Beat and Rhyme. “By an associative property, that means I’m going too.” He gnawed on his hand, looking nervous. “Sorry we got off on the wrong foot before,” he mumbled around his fingers. “Hope we can take out the negative. Maybe our paths can intersect again.” 

He was aware that he was rambling again, and the blank faces around him told him that his math wasn’t helping, but he honestly didn’t know what else to say. His eyes darted over to Joshua. “Return to origin?”

“Yes, Sho.” He noted Sho’s reluctance to leave and added, “I’ll see if I can get you some more off time.”

“Mmph.”

Joshua swatted Sho’s hand out of his mouth. “And stop doing that. It might get infected.” He sighed and looked back to the others. “Thanks,” he said softly.

He and Sho stepped out the door and disappeared.


	3. Not unlike a maiden with a clouded expression

“Goddammit, Joshua!” Neku slammed his fist against the wall, but the jolt of pain that went up his arm wasn’t enough to distract him from his thoughts. 

He didn’t want to worry. He didn’t want to care. 

But he still couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid boy and his stupid smile, his shattered-glass grin that he showed to Neku and Neku alone. 

He didn’t want to, but he was the only one who could. He gritted his teeth and turned to face the River. He clutched his pin tight in one hand, his phone in the other. 

Texts lit up the screen from his friends, except for from the one friend he really needed to hear from. On his side of the screen there was a string of questions: _where are you?, what happened?, are you okay?_ forming walls of text bubbles with no reply.

Neku slipped through the jagged hole ripped in the fence (courtesy of Sho) and entered Shibuya’s dark, damp, graffiti-covered sewers.

He never understood why Joshua decided to make his home here of all places. He never understood most things about Joshua.

His shoes squelched through the mud. At least they weren’t new. He could hardly see through the darkness, but the streaks of bright white paint on the wall were enough to guide him.

Even though he had only walked this path once before, he hadn’t forgotten the way. He turned the last corner and closed his eyes; space shifted and changed around him with a feeling like plunging into the deep end of a pool.

When he opened his eyes again, he was standing in the Dead God’s Pad, nearly nose-to-nose with Joshua. He suppressed the urge to shriek and leap back.

“Neku,” he said in a voice as cold and hard as ice.

He glared right back, refusing to back down. “Yeah, Josh, it’s me. Wanna explain some things to me?”

His lips curled into a sneer. “No. I don’t owe you anything.” He flicked his wrist in a dismissive gesture. His arm was covered in angry red lines.

“You owe me everything. Look at you.” He reached for Joshua’s arm. “You keep dodging questions and dropping hints like you don’t want to tell me, but I know you really do. So talk to me like a normal human being.”

Joshua stuck out his tongue at him. “I’m neither normal nor human, Neku.”

“Yeah, you’re a child. A stuck-up, selfish, entitled little bastard, running around in circles and never getting anywhere.”

“Stop.”

“No. The world doesn’t run on your agenda, and I want answers.”

“I said stop.” Something changed in his face, and he suddenly looked a whole lot less like Joshua. 

Wings unfurled from his shoulders with a sound like ripping paper, quite literally tearing themselves from his back. They spilled across the tiles like liquid starlight, casting dizzying patterns of light and shadow. They stretched until the room was full of their delicate filigree, bloodstained lace suspended mid-air. 

His wings dwarfed him, a tiny figure at the center of a glimmering and wildly branching graffiti.

“I am a god,” he whispered, his voice trembling. 

Those shaking words should’ve sounded weak, but instead it was as if each syllable was quavering with barely contained power.

“Josh—”

A wing twitched and sent him sprawling. A flurry of feathers like a hurricane went through the room, throwing bottles from the shelf, sending papers up into miniature whirlwinds, making the foosball figures spin wildly around their poles.

“I am a god,” he repeated, “I am Shibuya. You cannot tell me what to do. Without me, you wouldn’t exist.”

“And you wouldn’t exist without me,” Neku countered, rising to his feet. “If not for me, you would’ve gone through with your dumb suicidal plan.”

“Dare you talk back to your god?”

Neku opened his mouth to argue, but found that he had nothing to say. 

Oh, he had plenty of words for Joshua, but this was not Joshua. 

It was Joshua-shaped, but its face was twisted in an emotion that Neku did not and could not understand. Teeth bared, fingers crooked into claws, eyes blazing like funeral pyres, this was nothing like the Joshua he knew. This was hatred and rage and despair, pain and passion, a discordant god.

“You should have shot me,” Joshua-but-not said, his lips pulling back over wicked-sharp canines. “I should have ended this.” The entire room shifted as he twisted his body around, full of feathers and impossibly angled joints. “Why didn’t you kill me? Why didn’t I? I’m not your friend, Neku, I was barely even your partner. And you say you want to see me?” He made a harsh noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a snarl. “Liar.”

“Will you just listen to me?”

“No. No more.”

The floor rolled beneath him. Neku dodged the sharp-angled edges of some impossible limb. “I thought you learned. I thought you saw Shibuya was worth saving!”

For a moment, the rage drained from his face, and he looked much older. Much sadder. “You were worth saving, Neku. Not me. Not this city.” His wings scraped the walls with a spine-chilling screech. “Neku. I’m done. And if you insist on staying, then…”

The door slammed open. _“Composer!”_

Hanekoma stood in the open doorway, his own wings spread wide. They may not have been as large or impressive as Joshua’s, but they shone many times more brightly. His phone emitted a faint beeping alarm. “Back away from the boy.”

Joshua smiled. “Ah, finally, the guardian angel arrives! Are you going to tell me to _‘be not afraid’?”_

“No. You should be.”

“Really, Sanae, threats?” He giggled, and the room rocked with his shaking shoulders. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, considering your little assassination attempt.” He swung one wing inward, tangling Neku in it like a net and holding him close.

Neku could feel his breath on his skin. He smelled like lavender and the sharp metallic tang of blood. Like smog and flowers. Like his city.

One finger traced the curve of his cheek, sending sparks of cold electricity through his body. “Are you in on this too, my dearest Proxy?” he said, and laughed again.

He could feel Joshua’s ribs as his chest expanded with his breaths. Every peak of his spin dug into his fingers as he clung to him for dear life as he ascended.

It should have been impossible for him, but Joshua wasn’t about to let reality boss him around. 

The dimensions of the room rippled and changed to contain his wings as they swung down. More than just wingbeats, each sweeping motion added to a throbbing baseline. Feathers scattered, and burst into ringing notes when they landed, filling the room with chaotic song.

And then, somehow, they were out the door, and Joshua was careening through the sewers. His wings scraped lines into the wall as he went, and Neku held on tighter and tighter as the motion threatened to loosen his grip. 

Close behind them came the Producer, a streak of pure light, ping-ponging off the walls as the Composer’s rhythms shook the air itself.

Joshua laughed, and it came out as bells, as chords, as a thousand voices that weren’t his. The sound rang in Neku’s ears until he felt his eardrums would burst.

He felt like he was being carried by pure music.

That sounded poetic. 

It wasn’t. It was his bones thrumming and insides churning, surrounded by so much sound he felt deaf, barely able to believe that his fingers were digging into anything solid as the city rocketed by beneath him.

Then Joshua came to a screeching halt, the whiplash nearly throwing Neku from him.

“Why’d we st-stop?” Neku asked through uncontrollably chattering teeth.

Joshua hovered there, his preposterous wings pumping lazily at the air. “You know, Neku, I always wondered. Why bother showing me what I can’t reach?” he said, gesturing at the world beyond the city. 

Neku clung tighter to him. His voice was caught in his throat; he could barely breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think of how high in the air he was.

Beneath them, still following, angrier and faster with every passing second, was Hanekoma.

 _“Composer!”_ he bellowed. _“Halt!”_ His voice pierced through Joshua’s cocoon of sound.

“Or what?” Joshua cooed at him. “You’ll erase me? And what about your poor little Player?” He held Neku out. He squirmed like an upset cat.

“J-Joshua!!”

“Catch.”

Neku screamed as Joshua let go and he found himself plummeting toward the ground far, far below. Hanekoma hesitated, then dove down to where he thought he could catch the boy.

Joshua was still laughing, sounding more and more unhinged. His wingtip caught Neku as he fell, gave the slightest flick, and suddenly he was tossed back up.

He landed heavily in Joshua’s arms, flinging his arms around his neck and resolving to never let go again. His heart hammered like a rabbit’s.

It was only a slight setback for Hanekoma, but it bought Joshua a few more precious seconds. He held onto Neku just as tight as Neku held onto him, the air around them pulsing with light and music.

“Why show me what I can’t reach?” he whispered his question again into Neku’s ear. He pulled his wings close to his body and dropped into a dive. 

The blood rushed to Neku’s head. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear anything but those throbbing wingbeats and the wind in his ears. He wasn’t sure where they were going. He wasn’t sure when they stopped.

He only knew that when he opened his eyes again, his feet were back on the ground, and neither Producer nor Composer were anywhere to be seen.

 

 _“Joshua, what the hell was that!?”_ Hanekoma yelled, his voice amplified by the full force of his angelic power. _“I’ve let you bend the rules for a long time, but this!? This goes against everything!”_

Joshua huddled on the couch, his wings wrapped around his body in a mess of intricate feathers. “Spare me the lecture, Sanae. Seems like you’re finally taking up your duties as Producer again.”

_“It’s about damn time!”_

“Please stop yelling.”

Hanekoma bit back his rage and took a deep breath. “... Fine.”

“Thanks. Now, Producer, what’s the first order of business?” he asked as he peered through the gaps in his wings.

Something felt… wrong about Joshua being obedient. He shifted uncomfortably. “There’s no reason for you to be in the RG. Or the UG, for that matter. Your duties are here,” he said, pointing at the floor.

“Okay.”

“Are you being serious?”

“As serious as I can be,” he said. “Is there a problem with that?”

“You’re a problem,” Hanekoma said with a long-suffering sigh. “None of the other Producers have to deal with such a troublesome Composer…”

Joshua reshuffled his wings to peek through a different window. “I don’t need you to scold me, Sanae. Just let me know what I need to do.”

“We need to clean up your mess first. Then begin preparations for the next Game. Megumi will instruct you,” he said. “Listen to him.”

And with that, he turned and left.

Now alone in his room, Joshua crumpled into a pile on the cushions. He might’ve cried. He wasn’t sure.

Either way, it didn’t much matter. Megumi didn’t return for several more hours.

 

Being Composer and actually doing his job was far more boring than being Composer and doing whatever the hell he wanted. He rolled onto the floor, his cheek pressed up against the cold glass.

 _Thump thump thump,_ went that stupid orange fish. Maybe he should make some sashimi…

“Sir, we need to assign a new Game Master,” Megumi said, cutting through his thoughts.

“I dunno, get Kariya on it.”

“He refuses.”

“His partner, then. I don’t care.”

“We need a real answer, sir.” He looked down at the Composer. “Did you look over the credentials of the possible candidates?”

“Yes Megumi, I read your essays.” He pushed himself up on his elbows and tried to switch into a more professional tone. “They’re all highly qualified. More qualified than I am.”

“We need a reply by tomorrow.”

“I know, I know.” He was tempted to let Sho run the Game again, if only to end this mind-numbing monotony. 

Too bad he had already promised both Hanekoma and Megumi that he’d take his duties seriously. “Can Uzuki do next week? She’s always wanted the promotion, and I’m sure she’ll pick up some promising new recruits.”

“Good choice, Sir. I will inform the others of your decision.” His shoes clicked as he left to send the message to the rest of the Reapers.

Joshua grunted. Uzuki would certainly keep him busy; she’d racked up a record number of erasures over the past few months. 

Winners or losers, Joshua would have to sort the Players. 

The majority would be recycled into Noise, a rare few would be returned to life. Some would become Reapers, as he had, and the only marker of whether they won or lost would be if their entry fees were returned. 

Perhaps one out of a thousand would be beyond his decision; Hanekoma would recruit them into angels. He always felt jealous of them, but then again, Hanekoma done him a few favors to promote him to Composer so quickly. 

Besides, he had never heard of a loser becoming an angel.

It was better to not get involved with Players at all. If Neku taught him anything, it was that. Feelings got in the way. Sadness, friendship, guilt, regret.

And… Love. He hated saying it aloud; it made him feel small and stupid. To hear the word in his teenaged voice was to hear the adult insistence of, “No, it’s not. You don’t know what that is. You can’t. You’re too young.”

Maybe they were right. He was a child when he died. Hanekoma said he was a child still. No matter how many years passed, he would always be. He was stuck, forever, while the rest of the world moved on into the future.

Shiki, Rhyme, Beat, Neku, Eri… They would move on without him too. He wasn’t sure why that thought upset him; it wasn’t like they were friends. 

Joshua didn’t have friends. That was another fact that he had to accept. He was forever 15, and forever alone.

There was no one to fake a laugh for, but he choked the noise out anyway. This was not what he had wanted when he had kissed the barrel of a gun on that fateful day. Not what he wanted when his finger curled around the trigger and splattered his brains all over the wall.

 _Selfish,_ everyone had said to him, but how could they know that he never did any of it for himself? It wasn’t what he wanted. It was what everyone else did. 

They wanted a reason to hate him, didn’t they? They wanted to get rid of him, didn’t they?

“Didn’t you?” he said. He twisted the words around his fingers into jagged streamers of black and yellow and green and blue, shaping each color into petals, layering them on top of each other. Just pointless Noise, he thought, as he released it into the air where it twirled in the wind. 

He let his human form fall from him like a shed skin. It was only a reminder of how he could never change. Only a reminder of that day that was something like happiness, that he spent at the side of those kids he had changed so completely in a few weeks. 

Those kids would not be kids much longer. They would grow into adults, and move out to the world beyond Shibuya.

It was doubtful that he would ever see them again. They’d be far from his realm when they died.

He watched the Noise spin away from him. A blur of colors, one for each of them. When they faded, so would their hue.

 

Game after Game, he asked the Players the same question.

What color is that flower now?


	4. As if your performance were a devoted sacrifice to the heavens

One day, the Composer happened upon a strange white flower. It gave off the faint pulse of power long gone, a hint of its previous glamour though now it was but an empty shell. 

A tiny, aching voice cried out from somewhere in Their mind as a chill of familiarity ran through Them.

Their question was posed to the flower itself. “What are you?” 

They flinched at the sound of Their own voice; it had been so long since They had heard it. 

When They reached up to touch Their face, Their fingers came away wet.

Confused and troubled by this phenomenon, the Composer let the flower drift into the wind once more. 

How strange this all was.

They would have to bring this up with Producer.

 

“Producer, I noticed something odd today.”

“What to you mean?” Hanekoma looked up from the cups he was scrubbing and realized with a jolt that the Composer’s cheeks were wet with tears. 

He didn’t know They could cry. 

It was hard to tell if They even had eyes. 

“What happened?” he asked.

“I do not know. It simply happened.” They brushed an unruly lock of hair out of Their face; a little gesture that reminded Hanekoma of Joshua. Reminded him that this god had once been Joshua, until one day Joshua just… stopped, and the Composer continued on. 

To this day, he didn’t understand what happened. 

Neither did his superiors.

But even that was such a Joshua thing to do, unsettling and unexplainable.

“Why are you crying?” Hanekoma asked instead of all the other questions he had.

“Is that what it is called?” They examined Their tear-wet fingertips with interest.

“Yes, Josh— … Composer. That’s what it’s called.”

The Composer nodded and flared Their wings. Hanekoma thought of Joshua again. 

Joshua’s wings were a beautiful web of colors and light, a complicated pattern of sharp edges and swooping lines, now replaced with ordinary wings with ordinary feathers.

He wondered what would happen if he said his name. He wondered if those syllables would mean anything to the being of pure light that stood before him.

“Joshua,” he said softly.

“... Excuse me?”

Louder, now. “Joshua.”

The Composer’s featureless face shifted. Hanekoma was fairly certain that the shift expressed concern, but it was hard to tell when They possessed neither eyes nor a mouth, nor any other component necessary to form expressions. 

“Is something wrong, Producer? Who is ‘Joshua’?”

Hanekoma shook his head. “Nevermind,” he muttered as he looked away. He wasn’t sure what he had expected.

Joshua had been young and stupid when he died, and hadn’t grown much wiser after. 

Really, Hanekoma should have known better. 

He should have known that, Joshua being Joshua, he would find some way to pull the trigger in death just as he had in life.

He should have known better. 

He _did_ know better. 

But he had ignored it. He had ignored Joshua’s moods and brooding, ignored that his interest was not in destroying Shibuya but in that it would destroy him too.

Still. Hadn’t Neku saved him? Joshua spared his city. That should have been the end of it. 

A lot of things should have been. None of them were.

Joshua spared Shibuya, but not himself. That much was clear, no matter how hard Hanekoma tried to ignore the despair reflected back at him in those pale purple eyes.

Twice had he seen the boy die, and he still did not know why. He had never asked what it was that made him cold and untrusting, never asked what his tears were for, never tried to find the source of the misery that held his heart in a vice grip.

Maybe if he had, this wouldn’t have happened. 

Maybe he could lift some of the weight off of Joshua’s narrow shoulders, and maybe he could have lived.

Now it was Hanekoma that was crying. The Composer watched him in silence, one ice-cold hand planted on his shoulder in some vague attempt at comfort.

“Joshua, please,” Hanekoma whispered, but They showed no trace of recognition. “Please, you have to be in there somewhere, right? Where did you go? Why did you do it?”

The Composer offered no reply.


End file.
